


The argument of living

by doomed_spectacles



Series: If I could love like anybody else [10]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Bickering, Crowley's Rat Army, Dogs, Domestic Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:50:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25055719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doomed_spectacles/pseuds/doomed_spectacles
Summary: An angel and a demon live together in a cottage. It's exactly as harmonious as one might expect.Or,Three times living with Crowley drives Aziraphale nuts and one time he loves Crowley too much to care.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: If I could love like anybody else [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1504748
Comments: 8
Kudos: 74





	The argument of living

**Author's Note:**

> Did I post a bit of South Downs fluff solely to make it to 100,000 words on ao3 right on my 1 year ao3 account anniversary? Yes, yes I did. 
> 
> Features Barnabus the angel hound and the reappearance of Crowley's rat army. Learning not to take myself too seriously and celebrate successes when they appear. <3

[2030]

"Crowley, you simply can't leave the spoon here on the counter after you stir your coffee," Aziraphale said, not for the first time. "It'll leave a stain in the form of a little circle."

Crowley didn't look up from his phone. "Mmmhmm," he mumbled.

"Crowley!"

"If it stains, just miracle it away," he said, still not looking up from his position sprawled on the couch. One leg was thrown over the backrest and the other was folded under his body.

Aziraphale huffed. He put his fists on his hips, defiant. He stamped his foot, not hard enough to scuff the floor but hard enough to show he meant business. 

No response.

Crowley stared at the translucent screen of his phone, engrossed in a game. Aziraphale could see the back side of little playing cards flitting about as he played.

"But I wouldn't need to miracle it away if you just didn't leave your spoon there in the first place!" 

"Mmmm." The phone vibrated; Crowley scowled.

"Crowley, for the sake of, well, _something_ , stop playing that game and listen to me."

"I'm listening, angel. I'm listening and playing," Crowley said, clearly not listening. He swiped the screen with his pointer finger angrily.

"Crowley, you specifically created online poker years ago to fool people into losing large sums of money. You were so happy about it I got concerned I might have to come up with something to cancel out all the misery caused by easier access to gambling. Remember?"

"Yeah, but I'm the exception. It's my creation. I’m not going to lose, I’m- it wouldn't dare-"

Silence.

"Oh, damn."

"Crowley, the spoon."

Silence.

Crowley snapped the fingers of the hand not holding his phone, then scratched his belly. His eyes never left the screen.

"There you go."

Aziraphale looked at the spot on the counter that had been dotted with coffee a moment ago but was now clean. Appeared clean. But he knew the spot was there, underneath. He sighed. 

Crowley cursed at his phone under his breath and Aziraphale could see the numbers on the display dropping further into the negative.

\---

"Barnabus! How did you get so muddy?" The filthy dog ignored him. "Crowley!"

Crowley looked over the top of his handheld console, but barely.

"Hmm?" He kept pushing buttons. The animal characters that inhabited his game island were talking; Aziraphale recognized the gibberish language they spoke.

Barnabus padded into the room and settled under the coffee table. He lay on his side on the cream colored rug, panting. Absently, Crowley scratched the scruff behind his ear.

Aziraphale looked at the trail of mud leading out the back door. Paw prints were clearly visible on the dark hardwood floors and the doormat. Barnabus heaved a heavy dog sigh and as his chest fell, so too did a clump of dirt onto the rug. Crowley pushed the buttons on his game, oblivious.

"We used to have a white dog, you know," he said pointedly.

"Yep."

Aziraphale sighed.

He got up and went to the back door. Aziraphale looked out to the patio, where they’d spent so many mornings and evenings and late nights. Where they’d drank champagne and laughed. He’d sipped his third morning tea while Crowley grumbled his way through an espresso. The table still had a few crumbs leftover from the pie they’d shared outside watching the stars come out. 

Beyond, the garden. Around a giant tree were plants of all shapes, sizes, and colors. He didn’t know them except by sight and smell, but Crowley knew all their names. A small strawberry patch was in its third year. He’d promised to make jam and bring it to the neighbors. There were flattened patches of grass where Barnabus liked to stretch out and sun his belly in the afternoons.

And next to the fence, a giant pile of dirt. It was at least four feet high, with bits of sod sticking out here and there. An indent in the middle with a spray of dirt spreading out behind it showed where one angelic canine had been busy digging. A trail of muddy paw prints led from the pile through the patio to the back door.

“I thought you were going to use that dirt to extend the patio and bolster the retaining wall.”

“Mmmm, yep.” Crowley bit his lip and mashed buttons furiously. He must not be playing with the cute little animals anymore. Perhaps the cheerfully violent plumber. “Gonna do that.”

“Crowley.”

From his spot on the rug, Barnabus licked his lips. Deep in the land of dog dreams, he twitched his muddy paws on the previously pristine cream rug.

\--

"Eek!" Aziraphale yelped. He shrieked, in a dignified manner befitting a startled angel of the Lord. Barnabus's ears pricked up but the giant dog didn't move from his spot in front of the fire.

"You startled me, little fellow," he said to the rat scurrying under his chair. "Let's get you somewhere else. Anywhere else. Not here."

He snapped his fingers. A very comfortable rat cage appeared. It had a small block of cheese at the back and a very secure lock. Aziraphale opened the cage and knelt down to find the wayward critter.

“Here you are,” he said, using his book to gently guide the rat into the cage. “Let’s get you outside.”

“Aziraphale! What are you doing to my-”

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes. "Your?"

Crowley straightened and looked out the window. He had a guilty look on his face. One befitting a demon who had been up to any manner of mischief. 

Any minute now he would start whistling. He'd shove his hands in his miniscule pockets and rock back and forth on his heels like a schoolboy caught putting glue on the teacher's chair. And Aziraphale would scold him but get distracted by the half inch of bare skin that was exposed when he leaned back and tugged on his jeans. 

Aziraphale focused.

“What do you mean yours? Crowley, this is a rat.”

Crowley made a series of noises that weren't words. Aziraphale didn't bother to try and translate. He waited patiently for actual words to form, as he knew they would eventually.

"Well, you can't just build a rat army out of thin air, can you?"

"I wouldn't know." Aziraphale pursed his lips. He was still holding the cage, but since he hadn't closed the door, the rat in question scurried off.

"You can't. It takes years."

"Crowley."

"Angel."

The standoff lasted three minutes. Then Barnabus sat up, blinking his droopy mismatched eyes. He let out a little friendly woof. The first member of Crowley's rat army climbed onto Barnabus's paw and sat, wringing its little rat hands and looking as pleased as possible for a rodent to look.

"Barnabus? You too?"

Barnabus settled back down with his head resting on his front paws. The rat sat on his head.

"See? Rat army."

Aziraphale said nothing.

"They're useful!" 

Crowley rocked back and forth on his heels. He shoved his hands in his miniscule pockets, just as Aziraphale knew he would. The little strip of skin showing on his belly teased Aziraphale. As he knew he would, Aziraphale looked. A little fluff of ginger hair was just slightly visible above Crowley's belt.

Aziraphale sighed.

"I’ve married a snake and he's building a rat army." He sat back down heavily in his armchair. Barnabus sighed. Curled in between the dog's fluffy ears, the rat appeared to have fallen asleep.

Crowley kissed Aziraphale on the cheek and went into the kitchen.

"Aren't you glad we saved the world?" he called over his shoulder.

"Hmmmm."

\--

“Are you ready, dear? Reservations are for seven.”

“Almost, yeah,” Crowley yelled down the stairs, “gimme a minute.”

Aziraphale looked at his pocket watch, then out the window at the darkening sky. Barnabus was asleep on the couch and though he wasn’t technically allowed on it, Aziraphale hadn’t bothered to shoo him off. He snapped his fingers and the lights in the kitchen went dark while the one outside the house lit up. 

“We’re going to be late, Crowley,” he called out. This new Thai restaurant hadn’t been easy to get into. Or rather, it wouldn’t have been, for anyone other than a retired demon taking his husband out for a date night. “I’d rather not have you try and make up the time on the drive there. You know how I feel about speed limits out here in the country.”

Aziraphale paused on the last stair that led to the bedroom. The lights were on but the open wardrobe door blocked his view. Aziraphale looked out the window, where he could see Crowley reflected in the glass. 

Crowley hadn’t heard him approach. He was eyeing his reflection in the mirrored wardrobe door critically, twisting his entire body this way and that. He’d worn a red blazer and a long, form-fitting black dress with pointed-toe boots. Aziraphale smiled at the way the fabric hugged his slim thighs.

Crowley snapped his fingers. His outfit changed into a modern-cut suit, with a black undershirt and deep red tie. He kept the boots as is, but added a sharp heel to them. Crowley pulled his hair into a ponytail low on the nape of his neck. He put his hands on his hips and scowled into the mirror.

Aziraphale watched as Crowley fretted over accessories, changed his boots several times, then undid and redid his hair. His heart swelled. He couldn’t have stopped the smile from overtaking his face even if he’d wanted to. When Crowley chose cropped pants with extremely high heels and a fitted jacket, Aziraphale’s eyebrows rose to his hairline. If those heels made an appearance anywhere near the village, he’d be hearing about it from Mrs. O’brien and Mrs. Hudson for months. He let his eyes roam over Crowley’s calf muscles, feeling a flush of heat rising at the sight.

“See something you like, Mr. Fell?” Crowley smirked and swiveled his hips, clearly for Aziraphale’s benefit.

He met Crowley’s eyes through the reflection.

“Yes,” he said, “very much so.”

Aziraphale skipped the last step as Crowley slammed the door to the wardrobe shut.

They didn’t make it to dinner.


End file.
